Once Upon a Lifetime
by Abye
Summary: Being reborn after kicking the bucket was certainly unexpected, but Hafna thought that was the end of fate's surprises. Well, it wasn't. SI/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter and no profit are being made from this fic.

 **Warnings** : Unbeta'ed, OC-insert, AU, kind of unserious plot?, infrequent updates.

 **AN** : I'm sorry. I had to try this out.

* * *

 _ **Once upon a Lifetime**_

 _ **Chapter one:** Unexpected Letter_

* * *

Hafna was proud to say that she experienced the unexpected, and came to _expect_ it.

No really, she did.

After all, now she knows that there is nothing to be afraid of, if you got injured you can be healed. If you got betrayed you could have your revenge, and if by some mistake you went off and kicked the bucket, surprise! _You can get reborn_!

So Hafna had no reason to be paranoid, she has no reason to jump when her crazy uncle blew something up _once again_ back in the kitchen, but now she definitely has reason to be, as her nimble fingers almost crushed the fine letter in her hands, because it is a horrible joke and it's not even April Fools.

Right, she died, once upon a previous lifetime and why is there's a Hogwarts crest on this damn letter? It's nineteen ninety-one and names like Harry Potter and JK Rowling are still very much unknown.

She needs to sit down, and she did.

The address* was precise and head on that if it was a miraculous prank it would be the work of a shameless stalker.

 _Ms H. Barrett_

 _The Second Bedroom_

 _129 Old Church St._

 _Chelsea, London_

Her fingers trembled as they hesitantly opened the letter, and words she memorized from her past life appeared before her eyes on the first page.

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDY_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Ms. Barrett_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

Right. Okay. Now, If Hafna was the girl she was once, she'd have screamed in excitement, danced to the moon and back and kissed the ground in thanks. But now, she felt a horrible headache coming, this life was _supposed to be stress-free._

She had the option of declining, she remembers hazy details on how some people refused to allow their children entry into Hogwarts, but then she must be a muggleborn in this life, right? She never knew her new (?) parents due to some unfortunate accident, and maybe one of them was a squib or something, or maybe her delusional uncle was a wizard in hiding, but without proof she was as good as a green muggleborn.

She recalls that they require special treatments, such as a certain professor visiting their homes to confirm some details. As in, no, that was no inappropriate joke, and your daughter-niece-sister-something is a witch.

No way out.

No, really, her dear uncle would rather offer her _unworthy_ soul to his gods than decline her entry to _a world of magic._

Now, she just needs a pen and paper to lay down facts about a certain novel series-turned-reality thing. If she is going to be shipped off to the not so unknown, she wants to be _prepared._

* * *

 _Nine Years Ago_

* * *

 _"Who is this ugly creature?" A sneering man peered in her cradle and lifted a brow at the rebellious untidiness of her place. A sputtering cough came from the nurse, who helpfully did her daily hygiene, and the pale head matron paled (it is possible!) even more, her lips were pursed so tight that Sheila (or is it Rose?) feared they might disappear._

 _"That, Mr. Barrett, is your niece, Rose Barrett."_

 _His face twisted as if he sucked the sourest lemon in the world, and spat, "Rose? What Rose! Reckless, foolish and obviously lacking brains my dearly departed brother was, he would not curse his offspring with a heinous name such as Rose!"_

 _A coughing fit took the poor nurse, Sally, and she excused herself so quickly that she reckoned hellhounds were on her heels._

 _The head matron surprisingly snapped. (It looks like someone could get on her nerves!)_ _"Mr. Barrett! That's the name the kind sister in our orphanage gave her after her baptizing!"_

 _Her uncle - if the runway nurse is to be believed - snorted unkindly and dismissed her declaration with crassness. "I don't care, I am her legal guardian and I have the authority to demand a change of name!" He then processed to mutter to himself audibly about the mental capacity of orphanage nuns._

 _Well, suffice to say, the head matron was not pleased with his apparent disrespect of religious figures and sacred action, and hauled off to God knows where, leaving her to the mercy of her new guardian._

 _He snapped his head to look at her dead on, and she was surprised at the amount of apprehension in his eyes, for god's sake she is - seemingly- one year old and what could possibly lil' old Rose (Sheila, or whatever what he is going to name her) do? A frown appeared at his face and he tilted his head, "You, my dear niece, are going to be handful."_

 _So thoughtful, her dear uncle is, she could not wait to live with him under the same roof!_

 _"That's it!" She startled at his sudden exclaim, and a wide smile overtook his previous frown, "A handful! You are no Rose, my dear niece, but a Hafna!"_

 _Well, She doesn't need a dictionary for her new name, her sweet uncle saw to that._

 _And what a great name for a child! She could already see the bright future ahead, full of supportive friends who do not bully her for a queer name at all; this crazy bugger should be given a medal for original names._

 _Dear clumsy but compassionate Sally was a little teary when she got to see her off, and the head matron was merely standing on the stairs of the dreary orphanage, head held high in her grey veil and beady eyes staring with contempt at her colorfully dressed uncle._

 _The newly named Hafna did not have any great affection for this place,_ _someone_ _rarely does, but at least it was safe and offered some comfort to her in her confusion and still reeling mind._

 _After all, one simply doesn't die and get reborn in the same moment._

 _She doesn't know what this strange uncle, this life is going to be. And she prayed to whoever may hear her that she will survive this time, she vows that there will be no wild adventures, no mad parties, no dangerous friends and definitely no more of her attention seeking tendencies_.

 _This life will be a break, stress-free and filled with lost and missed chances, she will try her utmost to achieve that or she will die trying._

 _._

 _._

 _But as it is said, 'Men Plan. Fate Laughs.'_

* * *

* I don't live in Britain, so if theres a mistake in the address don't hesitate to point it out.

 **AN:** Just to clarify, Hafna is not the one in _'hafna liba ttir_ ', but as in Hafna in Arabic, which means 'handful'.

Excuse the grammar and typos, folks, and tell me your thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning(s)** : Language, typos.

 **AN:** I'd like to warn you that this story doesn't have a serious plot, as it's lighthearted and while it _may_ hold actual themes later it's mostly something I entertain myself with while waiting for other authors to update, so don't expect too much :)

Well then, enjoy!

* * *

 ** _Once Upon a Lifetime_**

 ** _Chapter Two:_** _Eight More Eyes, Please_

* * *

 _10:08 am, Chelsea, London._

Harry James Potter is a trouble magnet, she - and he, she supposes - knows.

She concluded that after three hours of pouring out - _in coded letters, her uncle's favorite pastime is snooping around her stuff_ \- the important events she remembers in a certain novel series.

If Hafna wants to keep her peaceful life, she has to stay clear of his way. That means no heroic deeds, and definitely no Gryffindor house to consider.

Harry Potter. Harry _friggin_ Potter. Maybe she is dreaming? Is this all a cruel trick conjured by her finally rotting mind? Cute but still ugly round spectacles, ragged clothes and an honest to god lightning scar?

She will not be tempted _._ _No groping, stalking, or hiding the preteen boy Hafna, it's a big bad no._

She put away her tattered notebook, the first one she bought in this life, and sighed as she gazed at her fountain pen.

 _'Dear God/Merlin/Allseer, wizards write with quills!'_

Now, time to face the music.

* * *

Hafna sat in her favored bergère antique chair, and warily eyed the letter placed on the tiny coffee table in front of her.

While the first paper was forward with its contents, the second one was the source of her irritation. According to the fine parchment, the necessary supplies for her 'school' can be bought at a Diagon Alley. Now, Hafna can rattle off almost all the important shops at this particular alley, knows that it lies behind a grimy bar named the Leaky Cauldron, but for the life of her she can't exactly remember where it was.

"Caramel, chocolate or honey?" The usual morning greeting came from an overly excited voice, and she replied absently with, "caramel."

"Boring." The russet haired man that came out of the kitchen was carrying two mugs of steaming coffee, his usual frown was replaced by an expression of concretion, and she cautiously surveyed the room once again, she didn't want a repeat of last week's exotic animals wandering the house unattended.

But thankfully he just placed her cup non-too gently before her, causing a few drops of coffee to spill on her _magical_ letter.

Hafna put the letter out of the way, and scooped a little of caramel into her coffee, luckily for her, her uncle was never well versed in parental responsibilities and didn't think that daily serving a preteen girl coffee is a little dangerous.

The daily newspaper was passed to him and he sat in his usual rocking chair after he adjusted his dressing gown. She noted that he was wearing his favorite pyjama, the blue poplin one, so she reckoned that he's up for a throughout discussion on the possible existence of an entire new world.

She coughed, and he lowered the newspaper with a raised eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Hypothetically speaking, if I said that there's a hidden magical world, and you just got an invitation letter to it, what would you do?"

Well, she was never one for subtlety.

He gave her a long, measuring look. Before his eye fell on the messy letters beside her _,_ _so he had noticed them._

"Hypothetically..." He drawled slowly. "I would very much like an explanation for why _you_ happen to have an invitation, out of many people."

By _people_ , she was sure that he meant _himself._ Well, she could always count on her uncle to ask the hardest question first.

How can she say that perhaps she's special but he's not, in a polite way?

"Genetics," she chose the least offensive explanation. "Let's say that one of my parents is a carrier of a recessive gene, one that may become dominant in rare cases. It could potentially awaken in some people, and remain asleep in others."

She stopped, and he waved his hand in a 'go on' motion. "This... _gene_ sometimes has to be supported by dominant carriers, but other times it's unaffected by the carriers and is unproductive." Hafna took a sip of her coffee, and continued. "The carriers of this particular gene give birth to a recessive gene children, and the descendants of these children have the potential to have a dominant gene in them."

She of course meant squibs, Hafna never believed - _in her past life_ \- that muggleborns suddenly began to appear without so much as a by-your-leave, instead she has read some throughout articles made by Harry Potter's fanatics that muggleborns are possibly the descendants of squibs, and she began to consider that conclusion.

After several awkward attempts at explaining the concept of magical gene, her uncle finally hummed and pointed at her letter. "I believe that we did enough biology, dear niece, now tell me what does that letter have to do with your interesting lecture."

She hesitated, before she gathered the papers and stretched her arm to give them to him.

Silence fell on the room for a total of seven minutes, before her uncle raised his head and she was astonished, for he was clearly dumbfounded.

 _That_ never happened. And if she were in other situations she would be a little smug.

 _Scratch that, she would be the smuggest one in the world._

 _"Magic."_ He breathed. And she felt the beginning of a smile tugging on her lips.

"Indeed."

.

.

Half past noon, the doorbell rang.

She froze.

That was quick. A little too quick.

Then she remembered that the Sorting Hat did ( _his, its?_ ) job in alphabetical order. So it must be the same when visiting the ill-informed muggles.

She gave her uncle a panicked look. And he returned it with a clueless one.

Right, he doesn't know.

Wait. Why does it have to be the magical society knocking on the door? Surely it must be one of their haughty neighbors, or some lost tourists, that happened frequently enough for her to be unsurprised.

With a calmer heart, she went to open the door.

Only to almost have a heart attack as a tall, greasy haired man dressed sharply in black suit stood menacingly before her.

 _'_ _Bugger me sideways, its Severus bloody Snape.'_

* * *

When Severus was given the _leave_ to enlighten the muggle families about their magical offspring a week ago, he gave the barmy old man his finest glower, only to receive the insufferable madly twinkling eyes back.

McGonagall was merciful enough to at least relive him of half the list, and he promised her that he won't deduct too many points out of Gryffindor this year, unlikely, since the Boy Who Lived will begin his first year at Hogwarts, but he had to promise her something or there will be consequences.

He had already begun his day in swallowing several doses of Calming Draught, and he managed to keep his temper and scathing remarks when faced with ignorant muggles and their incompetent broods.

He had crossed the names of those he succeeded in _informing_ , and took another dose of Calming Draught, though its effects where not as satisfactory as usual, then he apparated to the next location, the Barrett's.

He appraised the modest, crème painted two-story house with its navy blue tiles, then he rang the doorbell.

A petite dark haired girl opened the door, and Severus recognized the small magical signature, he found their next addition to Hogwarts.

The following hours were spent in the strangest manner, considering that he was supposed to introduce the wizarding world to a muggle family, he expected the usual incredulity, skepticism and ceaseless questions. A typical muggle - after expressing concern over his mental capacity - would have asked dull, uninspiring questions regarding the validity of Merlin's existence, the feats of magic and settled for more queries about Hogwarts and its courses, safety and the future that awaited their offspring. However, Mr. Barrett rapidly changed the script familiar to him.

The muggleborn's guardian asked about the wizarding world's legal and social structure, its culture and commerce, and went on to ask more peculiar, eccentric and frankly perceptive questions that exposed a sly, inquisitive mind.

Throughout the span of three hours, Ms. Barrett was a quiet presence in the bright room.

In the beginning he assumed that she was either meek or nervous, but she kept stealing glances at him over her cup, and then she had little queries regarding the magical world, how to reach Diagon Alley and later, seemingly satisfied with his curt replies, she gave him a mint flavored tea and politely thanked him for his visit. So he supposed that she was simply a little mature than her peers.

He still had more muggles to visit than he liked, so he ended his call with a terse "I expect to see Ms. Barrett in Hogwarts the first of September." And swiftly took his leave.

* * *

She just met Severus Snape.

She just sat and _breathed the same air_ as Severus Snape.

Hafna was having a mild heart attack; her inner fangirl screaming so loud that she feared he might have heard her.

Hafna tried to not meet his eyes, recalling that he was an accomplished Legilimens, but it was kind of hard to do when there's a figure out of her childhood fantasies _sitting in her living room_ and _drinking her favorite tea._

Then he left and if she was feeling poetic she would say that he was a dark cloud that swept by and took her heart away.

A cough from her uncle had her snapping her head, and the slimy tosser had _no right_ to look at her with that amount of repulsiveness.

After pointedly ignoring his mutterings about puberty and queer tastes, she downed her now icy cold coffee and rose, and then with a brisk "I'm going to get ready," she left the sunny lounge room.

.

.

After a quick, economical shower and usage of an _old_ hairdryer, she wore a black silk blouse dress, with a white pointed collar and A-line skirt. After donning black leggings and black low heels, she completed her look by gathering her shoulder length hair into a high ponytail.

Did she overdress? But seriously, the nineties fashion was so horrible. For god's sake they wore too much _leather and jeans,_ and this is the most comfortable attire she has that doesn't involve revealing too much skin, and as far as she knows, the wizarding world still lives in the medieval age with their backward thinking, so a modest wear will do for now.

Her uncle hollered from downstairs, "Girl, if you are later than five minutes I will sic Golbo on you!" Hafna rolled her eyes; it was unfair that the last time she wanted to go out he spent an _entire hour_ deciding whether to wear a cashmere suit or blend suit, extra ten minutes won't hurt him now.

An impatient noise and pointless banging had her forsaking her guise of busyness, "I'm coming already! Don't get your knickers in a twist!" She pulled her designer cross-body bag and closed her room's door.

When she came down she found that her uncle wore a linen tan suit with walnut cap-toes shoes. She was thankful that he had forgone his usual neon green checkered Windsor tie, that thing was extremely _hideous_.

"Are you dressed to impress?" She felt the need to ask, and it earned her a distracted, "A magical world! A magical world, Hafna!"

"Yes, yes, must you sound like a broken recorder?" She groaned, and when he shook his finger warningly awfully close to her face, she shut up and got into her uncle's practically _ancient_ white BMW E30 car.

* * *

It took approximately nine minutes to reach Charring Cross Road, and she had to twist her neck in uncomfortable positions in a futile search for a broken-down old shop that screamed magic, but maybe she was expecting too much and _maybe her dear uncle should stop vibrating in excitement next to her because it's maddeningly distracting._

"There!" She exclaimed, pointing at a run down sign with barely legible letters proclaiming it the desired pub; The Leaky Cauldron.

Her uncle pulled a dangerous stop that almost knocked the old lady walking leisurely on the sidewalk, and Hafna has no idea how he could shrug off the intense glare she gave him, if that look was directed at her she was sure that she would have disappeared off the face of the earth.

She hastily stepped from the car, sincerely apologized to the old lady and dragged her uncle to the pub despite his clear hesitation; "Are you sure that's the so-called magical entrance, dear niece? It looks like your typical, drugs and whatnots hole!"* She ignored his apprehension and with a firm "I'm sure," She opened the scruffy door.

It did indeed look like a place for illicit activities; dark and shabby, with a bar and a number of tables in the shadows of the corners. Hafna immediately headed to the bald man behind the bar, a toothless, creepy smile was thrown at her and she gave him a tentative, pale one in return.

"We are here for Diagon Alley, could you please show us the way?" Understanding lit his eyes, and Tom the Barman put down the filthy towel he was using to sweep the counter, and he shook her uncle's hand with vigor that he was unaccustomed to, "Muggles, aye?" She swallowed the laughter that bobbled in her throat; her uncle was looking with shock at the dirty hand covering his own, _take that, neat freak!_

After the internal mishap with Tom the Barman, he helpfully showed them to a small, walled courtyard with only a trashcan in it, before he divulged that tapping the correct brick on the wall could access Digaon Alley, and then he processed to demonstrate. "From the trashcan, three up and two across!"

Instantly, a large archway formed, and various noises, scents and colors suddenly appeared, stunning her and engulfing her entire soul. "Welcome to Diagon Alley!"

Tom directed them first to Gringotts, "A white, marble building, you won't miss it!" and left them to do whatever wizarding barmen did.

Hafna took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, grasped her uncle's clammy hand and began to weave through alley packed with magical crowd.

There were all kinds of shops; restaurants, pet shops and she instantly spotted _Flourish and Blotts_ bookstore on her right side, she was itching to run her fingers on the books inside ever since she was an eight grade kid, it was a wish come true as soon as they sorted the money problem in Gringotts.

Speaking of Gringotts, there it is, looming ahead and hard to ignore with its snow-white coloring in an alley filled with browns, reds and yellows.

She ascended the stairs leading up to a set of polished bronze doors, which happens to be flanked by a small figure – _goblin! She screamed internally_ – in a red and gold uniform, she tugged her uncle's hand when he stopped in his tracks, and strode to a small entrance hall with another set of doors flanked too by two goblins and, lo and behold, engraved on those doors are familiar words:

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed …_

She stopped for a moment, letting her uncle read the warning, though he won't need it, more of politeness sake than anything, as she doubted those goblins with their sharp nails will be friendly if she breezed through their doors on her first visit disregarding their warning.

The doors opened to reveal a massive marble hall, with long counters and numerous goblins sitting behind them. She hesitantly approached the nearest counter, there was only one wizard in the line – he was wearing an outlandish purple cloak and a sharply pointed hat – so she and her still stupefied uncle quietly stepped behind him. After two minutes with furious whispering from the wizard, and bland loud remarks from the goblin, the wizard turned sharply and almost collided with her if not for her uncle's immediate maneuvering, he then blinked down at her and her uncle, nodded at them and with a dramatic flare of his cloak he left through the still open doors.

The magical bank teller hemmed and she stepped forward with a weak smile. "Hello, we'd like to exchange muggle money, please."

Was that a nasty look? No, Hafna was sure that the goblin was giving them his own version of stink eye.

The bald headed, pointy nosed goblin sneered. "Certainly."

Her stingy uncle, despite his deep pockets, only gave her three hundred and fifty pounds for her monthly allowance, so when the goblin exchanged them for wizarding currency, she had seventy galleons to spend.

 _Seventy galleons_. What could she possibly do with seventy galleons? She wanted to buy full wardrobes, hundreds of parchments and quills, half to practice on and the other for her new magical school, she wanted to buy fully equipped potion sets, no way she's stepping in Snape's class clueless, _he would eat her alive,_ not to mention the food, books, and pets! So again, curse her stingy uncle and his tight hand, one would think that when faced with a foreign culture, they'd be a little lenient on monetary side, but not her damned, sly uncle.

As she took the purse from the goblin with a forced smile, a thought suddenly sprang in her mind. "If you don't mind, sir, is it possible to perform a heritage test?"

The goblin eyed her strangely, and drawled. "Yes, it is possible, for five galleons." After grudgingly parting with five pieces of her now precious money, he motioned for her hand, and she gave it to him warily. He suddenly had a needle in his long fingers and a pale parchment on his counter, with a swift prick to her index finger, she watched her blood fall on the parchment, and with her uncle's hot breath tinkling her neck, they watched as, slowly, words and lines began to form on it.

Hafna Lori Barrett was born on July 20, 1980. The line around her name was green, and above her name were two names with brown lines; David Barrett and Selena Barrett née Hall. The names above her father's name all had brown lines, and stopped expending after her great-great-grandfather, but on mother's side, or technically her maternal grandmother, Sharon Hall née Tuft's side, the burst of green and blue lines expended almost endlessly. There were, surprisingly, wizarding names on her mother's family tree and the nearest one, who might be her great-grandfather, was named Ignatius Tuft.

"Tuft!" The goblin snorted, in surprise or contempt, she doesn't know, and then tapped the parchment with a thin finger and it instantly stilled. He then proceeded to explain in a mild tone that the brown line means the person is a muggle, blue for magical potential, such as squibs, and green for witches and wizards.

"The Tuft is a wizarding family who was thought to have ended with the last heir, Ignatius Tuft, who happened to be the Minister for Magic in the 1960's. He vanished from sight when he was forced from office in 1962." The goblin sneered, and pointed at Sharon Hall's birthdate; March 19, 1948. "It looks like he sired a squib and concealed her." A bastard** squib went unsaid, as there's no other line beside Ignatius.

"Fascinating." Breathed her uncle, and it shook her from her stupor, she took her hand back, warped her finger with a tiny ribbon the goblin gave her, and said cautiously. "And does the Tuft family happen to have an active vault?" And yup, that was definitely a stink eye.

"Indeed, there is." He spat, and turned to holler at a goblin standing beside a near passageway, "Botgob, vault number 650." He then rummaged in the drawers before him, and thrust a small golden key at her, one that uncle instantly plucked from his hand before she could move. She warily eyed him, but turned to thank the goblin civilly, and went to follow the other, and seemingly nastier, goblin.

After several plunges and chances of losing her lunch, she found out that the Tuft had a considerable amount of galleons, several sickles and a small mountain of knuts. Vault 650 had statistics of 1570 galleons, 345 sickles and 872 knuts.

Well, at least she doesn't have to worry about opening a new vault now.

.

.

With a heavier purse, _never mind bottomless_ , in her small bag, Hafna exited Gringotts Wizarding Bank in a better mood, as her past life's best friend used to say: _nothing makes you high as money does_. Now she can buy all what she wants without her uncle interference. She dug her hand in her bag and opened the supply list required for Hogwarts students.

"We have to get uniforms first," she informed her uncle, and pointed at Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. "I require a full wardrobe, and it might take a little time." In other words, scram.

He sighed, and gave her a side-glance. "Alright, troublesome niece, I should be in that bookstore." He waved at a far store with a familiar sign.

They split up, Hafna to get her new wizarding cloths, and her uncle to explore the magical world in-depth in Flourish and Blotts.

She pushed the door of the small purple shop and was heartily welcomed by a short witch clothed in all mauve. "Hogwarts, dear?"

Hafna nodded. "I'd also like a full wardrobe, please." Madam Malkin all but squealed in happiness, and manhandled her around the colorful shop for an entire hour. She took her measurements; they quickly resolved the matter of Hogwarts robes, and Hafna requested all robes, plain or not, to be self-ironing and self-repairing. Then began the headache, what kind of robe or fabric would she like? Colors? Enchantments? And in the end she had a whole two-foot parchment for her nailed on Madam Malkin's clienteles' orders, she was then informed that Hogwarts robes would be ready after two hours, but the wardrobe will be owled to her address, which she readily gave to them.

She left the purple shop with a sprint in her gait, and sidestepped the crowed to get to a brown and red bookstore, her uncle spotted her and waved to her; she reached him and looked curiously at the mountain of books he carried in a simple basket. "All what's needed for a beginner." He answered her inquiring look, and she gave him a sincere smile for his efforts, he might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but when his brain starts working he's her favorite, not to mention only, uncle.

So all what's left is Hogwarts eight schoolbooks, which were speedily purchased. Hafna took out her list and saw that there's only potions and astronomy equipment left, other than a wand and a pet. She directed her uncle to Potage's Cauldron shop, purchasing one pewter cauldron and a brass one, then in Wisecare Wizarding Equipment she bought a black, anti-wear and anti-water customized trunk, the mandatory brass scales and crystal phials, and a telescope.

The next shop was Mr. Mulpepper's Aprotheocary, where she got her hands on the last potion kit bag before it went out of stock, and managed to snatch a potion-making kit before a blue-haired adolescent witch. In Scribbulus Writing Implements, Hafna acquired several quills with the addition of one Fwooper and one Eagle Feather quills, she also bought a self-spelling quill - though she was informed that it won't be allowed in exams - several vials of ink, and many rolls of goatskin and sheepskin parchments.

Then, standing before a slightly imposing shop with a sign that read _Ollivanders_ and _Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._ strapline, she began to feel a little bit anxious.

She delegated her uncle to collect her school robes from Madam Malkin, and now she is alone in front of a shop she dreamed to see in her past life. Hafna wiped her clammy hands on her skirt, and entered the wand shop.

Dimly lit, cramped with shelves filled with long, small boxes, and with tendrils of dust flickering around, she felt the slight pressure that almost went unnoticed by her. _Magical pressure, if there's such a thing?_

She hesitantly approached the counter, and called out, "Mr. Ollivander?" A shuffling of feet drew her eyes to the backdoor, and an ancient, silvery haired man appeared.

He spent a long time squinting at her, and then recognition lit his eyes. "Aah, grey eyes, a Tuft! Perhaps Ignatius Tuft's?" She weakly smiled, that was way too creepy. "Yes, my great-grandfather." He nodded thoughtfully. "What was it? Ah yes, cherry, nine inches with unicorn hair, slightly bendy, yes, young Ignatius was one for dramatics and foolhardy. "

Well, that's…informative.

"Now, try this!" Without much fanfare, he quickly snatched a nearby box and gave her the wand. "No, No, this!" Her fingers didn't touch the wand before he grabbed it and placed another one, then another one, and another one. An eerie gleam entered his eyes when the fourteenth wand was snatched from her. "A difficult one!" He was vibrating with excitement, and soon his counter was almost buried under the numerous boxes he brought from god's knows where.

"What about… this?" He sounded almost skeptical, eyeing her as if she was the barmy one, and extended a dark wand with a sleek handle to her, she tentatively grabbed it, afraid that he would snatch it as well, but he merely eyed the wand with a thoughtful frown. As soon as her fingers closed around the handle, A cold shiver went down her spine, the hairs on her body stood and _she was back again in the dark, cloistered space filled with pain loneliness pain pain_

She gasped. He narrowed his watery eyes.

"Ash wood, twelve inches and thestral hair." He murmured, and then looked up to meet her eyes. "Thesrtal hair, a potent yet tricky substance to master that can only be handled by a witch or wizard who is capable of accepting death, since only by such can it be seen. "***

Hafna stilled.

He tilted his head and a weird, tense moment passed. Then he smiled gently. "That'd be eight galleons, Miss Tuft." She didn't correct him, way too spooked to do so, and quickly paid for her wand and hightailed it out.

.

.

Her uncle was looming in front of _Magical Menagerie,_ and eyeing a very big cat – kneazle, she reckoned, but it was a little smaller – and as soon as he saw her he nodded at the creature. "What do you say?" She sighed, and gave the weirdly attentive creature a tired smile. "Beautiful." And indeed it was beautiful. With its snow-white fur, a not so unfortunate heterochromia, with a golden eye on the right side and a pale lilac on the left, it was a gorgeous creature.

The cat – _or kneazle, or maybe a crossbreed?_ – preened. A brief bonding with the creature, they found later it was a female, and the shop assistant helpfully told them she was a hybrid of a cat and a kneazle, and soon they were purchasing her and her necessities for eleven galleons.

She cuddled the half-kneazle, and the tenseness in her shoulders evaporated, she softly scratched the creature's underbelly, and received a lick in return. She faintly laughed, and whispered. "Do you have a name?" It was a stupid question, but she's not naming her until she's sure she doesn't have one, when the half-kneazle looked up at her and tilted her head, she smiled again. "Well then, would you like to be Formosa? It means beautiful." The cat cocked her head, and then meowed softly, closing her magnificent eyes and furrowing deeper in her arms.

When they finally reached their home, the skies were blushing red and the street lights were lit, her uncle parked the car and helped her carry her stuff to her room, she was bone-tired, weary and her eyes were barely open, slipping off her shoes she threw herself on the bed, and the newly named Formosa followed her, sitting daintily on a small pillow beside her. She stretched her fingers to caress the cat's neck, and _she had a month and eleven days to prepare for Hogwarts_ , were the last thoughts on her mind before sleep overtook her.

* * *

 _* The Leaky Cauldron is seen by muggles as a broken-down old shop._

 _** Bastards appear in the Gringotts inheritance tests, but not in tapestries. Or something._

 _*** Directly quoted from Harry Potter wikia._

 **AN:** I swear, I didn't mean to leave the uncle nameless, but it kind of happened. Thoughts?


End file.
